When You Least Expect It
by hasapi
Summary: [WIP] Harry Potter, seeker extraordinaire, was tired of being sought out for only his fame, fortune, and good looks. Pansy Parkinson had given up hope that there were any good men out there. Funny they should find each other...
1. Life As They Know It

**_When You Least Expect It_**  
by hasapi 

**Author's Notes:** Hah! I knew I was insane… Wanna know something? I am, right now, writing about ten fics. I have another ten in planning. *evil laugh* Wanna know something else? I'll be getting even more ideas, probably at least one a week. *shrugs* But hey, nothing new, at least not to me. This is the prequel to Last Will and Testament, and probably won't be posted until that is finished, but hey, no guarantees. I might actually put that one on hold to write this one… *shrugs* We'll see. Nothing's positive till it happens.

**Pairing:** Harry Potter / Pansy Parkinson (I'm not going to bother hiding it; it's rather apparent from the summary)

**Rating:** R ('cause I wanna be bad! *grins*)

**Summary:** Harry Potter, seeker extraordinaire, was tired of being sought out for only his fame, fortune, and good looks. Pansy Parkinson had given up hope that there were any good men out there. Funny they should find each other...

**Disclaimer:** Hehe, did you think I owned this? Well think again!! 

  
  


***************

Chapter 1

  
  


_Screw all men_, Pansy Parkinson thought vehemently as she dug into her salad with unusual gusto. _Well_, she reflected thoughtfully, _not literally. They really wouldn't deserve that._

  
  


She didn't mean it in a good way.

  
  


Pansy had just broken up with…oh, what had it been? Her fourth boyfriend in five months? Blast it all, she really should just kill herself to save someone else the misery. 

  
  


Well, she didn't mean it literally. Pansy didn't _really_ want to die, but that didn't mean that she couldn't brood, now did it? 

  
  


Steve had actually been the nicest one. And what had happened? Well, because of the fact that two of her previous boyfriends had been cheating on her, she had been sure to take note of any strange behaviors or disappearances on his part. They'd been going out for a month, and blast it; she'd been beginning to like him.

  
  


At least a little. They'd laughed and talked and had fun, but then she'd found the picture of Annalyse on his desk. And then she'd found them snogging on it a few hours later… They had come dangerously close to shagging, in fact, and would have, had she not walked in. 

  
  


What was wrong with her? What in the name of Merlin was so wrong with her that she could not hold onto a man? She knew it wasn't her looks; she wouldn't have been asked out in the first place if that were the problem. 

  
  


Maybe it _was_ her looks, in a demented sort of way, she mused. Maybe they found her pretty, but then became bored with her. In a way it wouldn't be surprising. Good looks could only get you so far, after all. It had been one of the reasons her father had been so anxious for her to get a real job. Robert Parkinson had also been sure that the family fortunes couldn't last forever. 

  
  


How right he had been. 

  
  


It really was her mother's fault, she reflected, playing with the lettuce on her plate. Had the woman not been so completely devoted to Voldemort, devoting all their resources towards him, perhaps their fortunes wouldn't have been depleted by the beginning of her seventh year. They'd barely had enough money to deck her out in style… Meaning that her mother, Cordelia, had been even more anxious to marry her daughter off to Draco Malfoy.

  
  


Pansy shuddered. Honestly. She would _never_ marry Draco. He wasn't that bad, she supposed, and she _did_ love him—but she loved him like a brother, and she _really_ didn't want to have sex with him. It would totally screw up their relationship… Funny how literally that could be taken.

  
  


Was it really any surprise that she had spied for the light? Her father, had he not been so weak-minded, would have joined the light himself… But of course, he hadn't. For some strange reason, he loved Cordelia. Pansy sincerely wondered whether her mother had ever returned the sentiment. It seemed impossible, the woman was so cold and unfeeling…but there must have been some reason she married him.

  
  


But then again, was it any surprise that she had? Robert Parkinson had been one of the most influential people in the Ministry at the time, not to mention his large fortunes. And perhaps Cordelia had led him to believe she loved him.

  
  


Pansy sighed. She didn't know why she kept trying to figure it out. There really was no use. 

  
  


"Hello, mind if I sit here?" a deep baritone voice inquired above her.

  
  


She glanced up, growling inwardly. She never stopped attracting men, did she? And they would always run again, oh so soon… 

  
  


Pansy shook her head, not realizing that this was an open invitation for the man to sit down across from her. Ooh, how she just wanted to _leave_… But she wasn't that rude. And the man wasn't _that_ bad looking. His dirty blond hair was cut just above his ears, and he had striking blue eyes. 

  
  


It was the eyes that intrigued her. They reminded her of Draco… Which was probably a bad thing for the guy, since _he_ was no doubt attracted to her. 

  
  


She sighed. All men were attracted to her. It might have sounded vain, but to her it was the truth. An awful truth, if she were honest with herself. And she tended to be honest with herself… 

  
  


"Excuse me?" the man asked, pausing above his soup. 

  
  


"What?" Pansy said, startled.

  
  


"I asked you what your name was," he said, a small smile on his lips.

  
  


"Oh," she blushed slightly, "Pansy Parkinson."

  
  


The man frowned. "Parkinson?"

  
  


Pansy sighed. There was another problem. When they found out who she was, that she was related to Cordelia Parkinson, they ran. Well, not all of them. Then again, it always seemed it was the bad ones that _didn't_ run. And it really wasn't that surprising. "Yes, my name is Pansy Parkinson; yes, my mother was Cordelia Parkinson; yes, she is spending a lifetime in Azkaban for use of the Unforgivens on Muggles," she finished angrily, standing and grabbing her purse. She nodded at Tom, who saluted her with his dishrag, a slight smirk evident on his elderly features.

  
  


Collapsing against the wall outside the Leaky Cauldron, Pansy allowed a few tears to trickle down her cheeks. She had no love for her mother, but the hatred that lived in her heart often found reason to grow, as she was discriminated against because of the Death Eater. 

  
  


Hearing commotion inside the pub, and guessing that the man was attempting to follow her, Pansy made sure she had her wand and Disapparated to the walk outside her flat in a primarily Wizard section on the edge of London. Staring at the small brick apartment, she sighed, knowing that she couldn't go inside. She needed to talk to someone… And she knew just who that someone was.

  
  


***

  
  


Harry Potter, seeker extraordinaire, glared angrily at Hedwig. She had letter tied to her leg, and tilted her head, cooing at him. She held the letter out to him and Harry untied it carefully, not wishing to harm the messenger. He had no idea who it was from, but assumed it to be one of his close friends, since, in her later years, Hedwig had become very temperamental and would not allow just anyone to handle her. 

  
  


He took a deep breath, opening the letter. He wasn't really expecting anything bad, but he hadn't heard from his friends in a while. That, he supposed, was more his fault than it was theirs. After all, he'd practically cut off all communication with the outside world last year—and that had included his two best friends. 

  
  
  


Dear Harry,

I hope that you're doing well. I know that you're on your way to leading your team to another World Quidditch Cup, but I do hope that you're doing well besides that. Well, I am writing this letter really for one specific reason: to ask you to come with me to a ball at the Ministry next Friday. No, it is not a date—I'm still going out with Jeff. He won't be able to come; a business trip, I think he said. I just want you to get out of your mansion. Live a little, Harry! Please respond.

  
  


Love,

Hermione

  
  
  


Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. Hermione's letter was so goddamn heartfelt that he really didn't feel he could refuse her. And she'd underlined 'please.' But he'd lived in his self-secluded state for the past…year almost. A year. He hadn't even realized it had been that long. 

  
  


The green-eyed young man sat down in his chair tiredly, glancing around the kitchen. It was home, he would be the first to admit it. But… It was also devoid of human contact. He hadn't talked to anyone besides his teammates in at least three months, and hadn't seen his best friends in five. He hadn't seen the Finnigans in six. He wondered if Ginny had gotten pregnant yet. She and Seamus had been trying since… Well, it seemed like forever. Ever since they'd gotten married… Had it already been five years?

  
  


He had lost touch with all of his friends, that was for certain. And why was that? Because… He just… Couldn't face it anymore. He hated being the center of attention, hated people—alright, women—wanting to be with him just for that fact. He was a prime candidate to be used… And he had been. 

  
  


He just wanted to be left alone. Was that too much to ask?

  
  


He shook his head, dropping it into his hand and staring out the window at the moor. It seemed so dreary. Truthfully, it _was_ rather dreary. But what was he going to do about it? He wasn't living a real life no matter what happened. Either it was like this, with almost no human contact, or it was out there, with so much that it sickened him. And it wasn't as though the human contact was like his friends, who treated him like a real person… It was everyone else. It was everyone who was ecstatic about meeting Harry Potter, the Man Who Lived and Defeated Voldemort. It was everyone who wanted to use that meeting to their advantage, whether it be for good or for fame. 

  
  


He'd had numerous girlfriends after leaving Hogwarts. The first one he'd loved. Jessica. She'd been beautiful, and she'd really seemed to care about him. But then he'd stopped by her apartment when she hadn't been expecting him, and he'd heard her speaking with a man about him. The man had asked whether she was any closer to getting into his Gringotts vault. She had answered, her voice devoid of emotion, that she had a feeling he would be proposing soon.

  
  


What had really hurt was that he'd had the ring with him, at that time. He had been ready to ask her. He had loved her, he really had. And it had turned out all she wanted was his money. He'd walked in, his face and eyes cold, and handed her the ring. Told her to go cash it in; he wouldn't be needing it.

  
  


And since then, he'd kept his distance from his girlfriends, using them for one thing only. Sex. And he had a feeling that they were using him for the fame, so he didn't feel bad about it. That was why he'd really only dated models and politicians. 

  
  


But after a while, he just got sick of it. Really sick of it. He wanted a real relationship, like his parents had had. A real relationship, like Ginny and Seamus had. Like Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Like Colin and Neville. Like John (his Keeper) and Marie. Like… Just like so many other couples he knew from school and work and everything, everywhere. Everyone had real relationships—except him. What had he done to deserve it? He'd just defeated the Dark Lord. That was all. 

  
  


So he'd said screw it all, and had broken up with Andrea, his latest flavor-of-the-month, and retreated into his Quidditch team. He had led them to the World Quidditch Cup with his die-hard attitude. He wouldn't let anything get in his way. None of his opponents had ever stood a chance. 

  
  


And he was doing it again. They hadn't lost a single match since the beginning of the season, and the semi-finals were almost over. He had a feeling they would win, again—especially now that the team had made him captain, despite his age. 

  
  


So why shouldn't he just go with Hermione? She needed a partner, after all. And he hadn't seen her in five months. Harry sighed. Who would have thought it had been so long? 

  
  


He scribbled off a reply, telling her he'd drop by her apartment at seven the day of the ball.

  
  


Well. He supposed he might as well go see about locating some dress robes. He wouldn't want to be caught unawares on Friday. Who knew? Maybe he would actually meet someone he could talk to.


	2. An Unexpected Meeting

**_When You Least Expect It  
_****by**** hasapi**

**Author's Notes:** Hah! Finally! This story was all the way down at number 29 out of my 35 stories, it hadn't been updated in so long. More than a year after I started this story, you have the second chapter. I doubt it'll be another YEAR'S wait, so I don't feel bad promising the third chapter will be along faster than this one was!

**Pairing:** Harry Potter / Pansy Parkinson (I'm not going to bother hiding it; it's rather apparent from the summary!)

**Rating:** R (language)

**Summary:** Harry Potter, seeker extraordinaire, was tired of being sought out for only his fame, fortune, and good looks. Pansy Parkinson had given up hope that there were any good men out there. Funny they should find each other...

**Disclaimer:** Hehe, did you think I owned this? Think again!!

_  
Chapter 2: An Unexpected Meeting_

She'd kill him for this, she would. Draco Malfoy was going to meet an early death, and no one was going to mourn it. She certainly wouldn't, that was for sure. She'd gone to him, hoping he would be able to talk some sense into her, make her forget about everything people said about her and her mother. Unfortunately, he had convinced her that the best way to do that was to go to the ministry gala. And wear this robe that she hadn't worn in years, since the _last_ gala she'd been at. It was tight—not quite as tight as it had been, as she'd lost weight—and a dark green color that she'd always thought complimented her blond hair.

Except, she had forgotten until she entered the room and saw the program, at some point during the evening they were going to call all of the "war heroes" up and they would all be hailed as heroes, and then promptly ignored—most of them, anyway, except those select few who always seemed to always be in the spotlight. It didn't help that she was on that list, because of her status as an auror at the time.

"Ahem," the director of the event said, clearing his throat. He was not someone Pansy knew personally, but she was certain she recognized him from around the ministry. "May I have your attention, please?" He was beaming, she noticed, his small stature—though nowhere near as short as Professor Flitwick was, if she remembered correctly—not seeming quite as small. He was older, probably old enough to be her grandfather. "This is the time we put aside in all of our ministry events to honor the heroes of the Second War."

Pansy cursed inwardly, thinking happily of all the ways she could torture Draco once the night was through. Perhaps, if the director wasn't going to call names, she could just pretend she _wasn't_ one of those…

But they always called names because they took note of who was there and who was not, to make sure everyone who deserved to be up there on the stage—or at the front of the room, as the case was now—and revered for the parts they had played, whatever those were. She had always stood at the back, being thanked as part of many, hidden, as her part had been in the war. She had not been on an active duty roster during that time, being more of an Unspeakable than an Auror.

"Malcolm Baddock, Randall Carthass, Thomas Everett, Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, Harry Potter, William Renquist…"

And there was her name. She hadn't been to one of these parties in such a long time that she was surprised there were so few war heroes attending them—but she supposed she shouldn't be surprised. She certainly couldn't be the only one annoyed at the fuss made over them.

Of course, two of them had to be Potter and Granger. It was just her luck, she supposed.

Pansy walked towards the front of the room, not looking anyone in the eye. She knew, even now, that there were people who doubted she had actually played any active part in the war. There were some who thought she had never actually switched sides—though really, she hadn't. She'd never belonged to Voldemort. Her mother had, but she had decided early on that being a Death Eater was not in her future. Some people thought she loved the publicity…early on, she had been insulted numerous times. It was one of the reasons she had stopped attending these events.

She wondered, as she reached the front of the room and tried to stand towards the back of the small group—difficult because there were so few of them—if Potter had ever felt that way, or did he love the media attention as she and Draco had always believed? He'd always had a lot of it, but you had to wonder about those early years. Obviously, Weasley loved it. She recalled his embellishing stories every time he was asked about them. She had been with him at one of the battles, and she remembered reading his account of it later on and thinking, "Was I in a coma when that happened?"

And there were the photographers. She gave her customary half-smile, not caring how people saw her. She could tell that Granger was grinning, and wondered if she enjoyed the media attention or was merely putting up a front. Granger, after all, hadn't been treated well by the media, from the time she was in fourth year and had been accused of playing Potter and Krum, to her entire relationship with Weasley. It had always amused Pansy to read about it in the paper, and given her a secret pleasure as well. Fame wasn't always good after all, and she was glad Weasley and Granger were being introduced to that fact.

As soon as the photographers were done—or rather, as soon as the presenter shooed them away—she walked determinedly towards the back of the room. She was leaving.

"Pansy Parkinson!" Millicent Bulstrode called, grabbing Pansy's arm. Pansy spun around, raising a brow at her old _friend_. She was fat as always—there was no other way to describe her, really, and Pansy was never charitable anyways—and had progressed to three chins since Pansy had last seen her. Her hair was heavily curled, and she had a lot of make-up on. Her dress was incredibly ornate and gorgeous, but looked wrong on her. On one of her missions, Pansy had run into a few hookers; Millicent looked exactly like them. "Long time, no see, Pansy."

No, Pansy amended, Millicent looked worse.

"Hi, Bulstrode," Pansy said shortly, smiling sweetly. She knew, from what Draco said, that it made her look sickly and hoped Millicent thought so.

"Why so formal, Pansy? We're friends, aren't we?" Millicent grinned at her, her eyes almost disappearing under the layers of fat.

The sight disturbed her stomach so badly, Pansy had to swallow to stop the bile from rising in her throat. "No, Bulstrode, not really. So, how about you just go ahead and fuck off." Pansy scowled, turning and escaping out the door. She made it all the way to the elevator before she smiled. She'd always wanted to do that.

"Now that, Parkinson, is a scary sight."

Pansy scowled. Potter. "No scarier than you and your entourage. Sick is more like it, though."

Potter grinned, bowing to her. "Thank you, Parksinson. That is the first insult I have received in more than a year. I needed that." God, when had Potter gotten so…fit? He was less of a boy next door and more… Well, more like Draco, to be entirely honest. But he was different enough from Draco to spark her interest. He seemed jaded, less innocent. She liked that. "After you," he said. She realized that the elevator door had opened and he was waiting for her to go.

"Thanks, Potter," she said.

The elevator seemed to shrink as soon as he stepped in. He wasn't that tall, really, but he had a…presence, she supposed. It killed her to admit it, but it was true.

"Why are you leaving so early?" Pansy asked, raising a brow.

"Isn't it obvious?" Potter replied, raising his brow in return. "The reporters were circling like vultures. I didn't want them to start wondering about Hermione and I."

"Mm." Pansy nodded. As if she cared.

Potter grinned. "I saw you get trapped by Bulstrode. How did you get away so fast? I figured she'd have you pinned for at least a few minutes."

Pansy smirked. "I, unlike you, Potter, know when to tell someone to fuck off."

He laughed. "Yes, you do. Congratulations."

Pansy rolled her eyes. The door slid open, the voice announcing the main floor. "Well, it was—" Pansy stopped. Potter's arm was blocking the doorway.

"Is there a problem with your arm, Potter, or are you going to move it?"

Potter grinned at her. He'd been doing that a lot, and it was unnerving. "Come to dinner with me."

"Have you lost your mind, Potter?" Pansy asked, frowning at him.

"Look," Potter said. "We aren't friends. We aren't exactly enemies. Come to dinner with me. If nothing else, we can trade insults. I'm not letting you go until you say yes."

"You do realize that I could disarm you before you could even blink, don't you?"

"Then say yes out of pity." Potter's eyes were laughing. God, when had he ever acted like this before? Ever?

Pansy rolled her eyes and pushed Potter out of the way. "Good bye, Potter; have a nice life."

* * *

Harry leaned against Hermione's bedroom door frame, rolling his eyes as she grinned at him in the mirror across the room, where she was taking down her hair. They'd met back up at the Apparition point. Hermione had taken a different elevator down, having decided to leave less than a minute after Harry had.

He was never going to live this down.

"You actually asked Pansy Parkinson on a date?" Hermione asked, trying not to chuckle. She failed. Miserably.

"Yes," Harry muttered. "She was insulting me, and it was fun. Not to mention she's grown into her face since school."

Hermione snorted with laughter. "Wait," she said, twisting her body so that she could look him in the eyes. "You mean you found her attractive?"

"Well, why else would I have asked Parkinson on a date?"

Hermione chuckled. "It _would_ be the obvious answer, but I hadn't expected you to admit it. Getting you to admit something like that is similar to my parents convincing a kid dentists aren't the equivalent of Satan."

Harry cracked a smile at that, glad Hermione was able to talk about her parents so easily. He sometimes wondered if it would ever be the same for him. Maybe if was different for her because she'd actually known them before they died. Or maybe she was just better at moving on. After all, he hadn't dated in over a year, and he blamed the fame-loving witches who'd used him so badly. Not that he'd used them any better, towards the end.

Or maybe it was like Hermione had said, during one of their late-night talks years ago—they were all different people, with different feelings, different ideas, and different ways to deal with things. She said she viewed herself as someone who would jump into something new as a way to deal with the old, to challenge herself to move on. And eventually she would. She'd identified Harry as someone who closed himself off when he couldn't deal, and stayed closed off until he'd figured it out.

"I couldn't believe it when it first came out of my mouth, but then I kind of liked the idea. I was surprised when she pushed past me and said good bye," Harry said, beginning to pace.

"You shouldn't have been surprised, Harry," Hermione said, as she resumed taking pins out of her hair. "Did you really think _Parkinson_, Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy's girlfriend all through Hogwarts, would want to date Harry Potter, savior to the Wizarding World?"

Hermione seemed to find this immensely funny. Harry glared at her, even knowing she would ignore it. "I would have thought she'd have grown past our petty school rivalry."

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you, Harry," Hermione said, her voice hardening ever-so-slightly. "Whatever happened to 'Slytherins are evil,' and 'all Slytherins are on the Death Eater waiting list'? I know very well that if you'd run into Draco Malfoy tonight, rather than Pansy Parkinson, you would be fending off reporters or be on your way to St. Mungo's, if not both. The only reason you're so upset is because Pansy's grown up in the three years since you've seen her."

Harry exhaled sharply, but didn't say anything. What Hermione was saying made sense—just as she always made sense, of course. "Why do you always have to be right?"

Hermione finally stood up, her hair down to her waist, not quite as tame as she would have liked, but something she could live with at least. She turned around, grinning at Harry. "Because I'm the brain."

"And I'm the brawn," Harry responded, one corner of his mouth turning up.

Hermione crossed the room, throwing her arms around him. "And you're my best friend."

Harry grinned, hugging her tightly. He blew a piece of her hair out of his face.

"I suppose it was too much to hope that I might get a chance at you, Harry," a new voice called from the doorway, its accent carrying a hint of France.

Harry laughed. "Hello, Elizabeth." She waved at him before leaving his view again. Hermione's roommate, Elizabeth, was a fashion designer-slash-salesperson and worked nine-to-five, but she had a social life that would have tired Lavender Brown. She hadn't been home when he and Hermione had arrived, so she must have just gotten back. He wasn't surprised they hadn't heard her; he'd been much too involved in the conversation to pay attention to much else.

They released each other, stepping back. Hermione smiled up at Harry, her eyes twinkling. "Why don't you try again?"

"What?" Harry asked. "Try what again?"

Hermione tilted her head, as if considering the issue. "Yes," she said slowly, smiling. "I think you should. I think you should find Parkinson and ask her on a date again."

"Why?" Harry asked. Did she _enjoy_ hearing of his humiliations?

Who was he kidding? Of course she did.

"Because, Harry, you need to move on," Hermione said firmly. "And if Parkinson says yes, which she might if you go about it the right way, she isn't the kind of person who wants the fame that would go along with being your girlfriend. It's perfect!"

"How would I _find_ her?" Harry asked.

Hermione laughed. "You're Harry Potter, remember? Ask and you shall receive. In any case, I've heard it rumored that she's an Unspeakable."

"_Parkinson?_"

"She was never implicated in the charges against her mother, Harry. There had been some rumor, but never enough that she even had a trial." Hermione raised a brow. "You didn't pay much attention to the trials, did you?"

"I was in Greece with Remus, remember?"

"You still got the _Daily Prophet_. Back then it had to be fifty pages thick. I remember them being desperate for people to cover the trials. So what _did _you do in Greece, if you weren't following the trials?"

"Hermione, I was with Remus. He brought me to all the sites, Muggle and Magical, and we spent hours at each one, sometimes days, reading the literature before he told me what he knew about it. Those three months went by quickly."

Hermione nodded, yawning abruptly. "Oh, my." She yawned again. "It's almost midnight. You should get home, Harry. I need to go to sleep. I haven't been sleeping enough lately and I want to try to get caught up." She gave him another hug. "Think about it, at least."

Harry smiled as she shooed him out of the room. She acted almost like a mother towards him. She always had, even back in their first year. He'd once wondered if that was why Ron had been so attracted to her, because she mothered them. But it wasn't really his business, and he wanted to respect his best friends' privacy.

He hadn't seen Ron in quite a long time. At least five months, maybe more. His, Ron's, and Hermione's meetings had become very infrequent after Ron and Hermione had broken up for the last time, a bit less than two years earlier.

Harry walked out of Hermione's and Elizabeth's flat, closing the door quietly behind him. He was ready for a change, he realized. Tonight had been fun. He could ask Pansy on a date. And if Pansy said no, he would live with it. He could go to other parties, try meeting other people. He needed to move on, to move past the hurt Jessica had caused him—and he felt like he was finally in the right state of mind to do so.

* * *

Remember to REVIEW! :) That way you can tell what you liked about this chapter. Or didn't like. Or downright hated. Anyway... 


	3. A Planned Encounter

**_When You Least Expect It  
_**by hasapi

**Author's Notes:** In case anyone is confused or just curious (confused me), this story started three and a half months before _Last Will and Testament_ begins. This chapter is shorter than the last one, but if I included the date...well, it would've been REALLY long, and I'm of the impatient type.

**Pairing:** Harry Potter / Pansy Parkinson

**Rating:** R (language)

**Summary: **Harry Potter, seeker extraordinaire, was tired of being sought out for only his fame, fortune, and good looks. Pansy Parkinson had given up hope that there were any good men out there. Funny they should find each other...

**Disclaimer:** If I ever tell you I own this, please hit me over the head with a frying pan and ask me to gather my sanity.

  
_Chapter 3: A Planned Encounter_

Harry watched his team playing in the partial fog of early morning, his brain working furiously to determine what he was going to do about Pansy Parkinson. He wasn't on the playing field because he was currently working with the Chasers and Beaters, trying a few different plays and working on creating a new one. But if clarity was what he hoped to achieve by staying on the ground, he definitely had not accomplished that. Instead of being able to watch his teammates with no distractions, his brain was providing a very good one in the form of Pansy Parkinson.

He clearly remembered her from Hogwarts. Whereas girls like Cho Chang had caught his eye, girls like Parkinson tended to make him turn away in near disgust. It wasn't just her looks, he decided, although "a face like a pug" had often come to mind when looking at her. He was beginning to wonder whether that thought had at all been influenced by his perceptions of her. Or maybe _her_ attitude had influenced her looks. People who were angry all the time and showed it did not necessarily look beautiful.

People who were prejudiced and tended to turn up their noses at others tended to look like... Well, like pugs.

Not to mention she'd lost weight. She really had, he was sure of it. She had been pudgy in school, probably contributing to her pug-like look. The loose robes she'd had on wrecked havoc with a man's libido, particularly his own. They alternately hugged and hid her curves as she moved, and he couldn't help but wonder what else those robes were hiding.

The fact that she'd changed was only accentuated by the knowledge that when he'd first looked at her, he hadn't known who it was. He'd started walking towards her before she turned just enough for him to recognize an expression he had come to recognize so well on her face—disdain. He'd had to stifle a laugh when he realized she was talking to Thom Willens, the director of something-or-other whom he had once been trapped into conversation with as well.

He had been surprised when she'd gone to the back of the group of "war heroes," thinking she would have wanted the fame and glory associated with the honor. But therein had been yet another amazing revelation: she didn't like it anymore than he did. That thought had been further cemented when she'd left the room just seconds after he had, despite having been delayed by Millicent Bulstrode.

The thought made him smile. So she'd told Bulstrode to fuck off. He couldn't blame her. Bulstrode had certainly lived up to what her name had seemed to imply back in school. He couldn't remember how many chins she'd had in school, but she seemed to have more now. Ron had once referred to her as a one-Knut slut. He hoped Ron was referring to the way she dressed, but he wouldn't have been surprised if he'd meant it in the truest sense.

Abruptly, Harry realized his team was nearing the end of the play. Watching intently as they performed the maneuver, he realized something: he needed a break. Not a long one. Just a week. In three months the team was leaving England and going to the Continent—specifically to Greece, Spain, Portugal, and France. He needed some time before that happened to straighten a few things out.

One of those things happened to be a woman by the name of Pansy Parkinson.

* * *

When Pansy heard the commotion at the front of the office, she thought nothing of it. People—usually reporters—often attempted to come into the offices, hoping to catch a glimpse or a hint of what the Unspeakables were working on now. Because a lot of what the Unspeakables did was preventative, it was extremely important that nothing ever be leaked to the press—which made the press that much more determined to find the department's weak link. 

The commotion was over in seconds, but instead of business going on as usual, Pansy heard the secretary calling her over. "Parkinson!" she barked. Mary was not one's normal vision of a secretary. Rather than being small, petite, and pretty, Mary was small, sturdy, and more than fifty years old. She'd probably been pretty enough in her youth, but Mary wasn't the sort that cared much anymore and never bothered to dress herself up for work. Her hair was always worn in a tight bun at the back of her head and thick glasses obscured her eyes.

Pansy stood up, putting the documents she was working on in the top drawer of her desk and locking it. The first thing they told you when you started working with the Unspeakables was to trust no one with your paperwork and never leave things lying about. You never knew who might want to have a peek.

Walking over to the secretary's desk through a maze of space dividers, Pansy was able to get a glimpse of someone standing there. It was obviously a man, and he had dark hair, but beyond that she couldn't tell. She wondered if this person had caused the commotion, and if so, why he'd been able to get in.

As soon as she cleared the dividers, she recognized him and realized why he'd been able to get into a place all others were denied.

He was Harry Potter. "Ask and thy shall receive," was the Ministry's motto with the Man Who Lived and Defeated Voldemort.

Rather than being angry, she was rather intrigued. If he were able to do this, why hadn't he before? And why was he coming here now?

"Pansy," he said, smiling.

She raised a brow, but responded similarly with, "Harry."

"Parkinson," Mary said, her face sour, "Mr. Potter insists upon a minute of your time. You may use the first conference room to speak with him."

Pansy nodded, walking towards the first room past the entry and assuming Potter would follow. She opened the door, the light coming on automatically as it detected her. Turning around, she crossed her arms and watched as Potter closed the door behind him. "What do you want, Potter?" she asked, leaning against the table in the middle of the room.

Although she was a Slytherin—meaning she prepared for the unexpected—Potter's reply caught her completely off guard. His being a Gryffindor meant he would skirt around the issue at first, not address it head-on.

"Dinner, tonight."

Obviously, his response was not what she expected. Definitely not. "Potter, I already told you no."

He walked up until he was mere inches away from her and asked. "Why? Why did you say no?"

"Because you bore me," she said. "Because you're Harry-fucking-Potter and can do whatever the hell you want, and I'm not going to drool after you like some fan girl." Pansy rolled her eyes. "Because I don't want to date a pansy."

Potter's lips twitched, before he gave in and grinned. "Which is why it's obviously perfect."

"Pardon me?" Pansy asked. When was he going to understand that she wasn't interested in a relationship with him?

"Answer me this, Pansy," Potter asked, leaning forward until there was almost no room between their lips. "Are you attracted to me?"

Pansy opened her mouth to tell him _no_, she was _not_ attracted to him, the sodding git, but just as she was sucking in air for her retort, he covered her mouth with his.

It was not sweet. She did not feel a sudden melting of the knees or a softening of the heart.

But what she did feel was a rush of desire straight to her womb, and she moaned, wrapping her arms around his neck and returning his kiss with hot fervor. She silently thanked the gods that there were no windows into the conference rooms for security reasons and that Potter had closed the door on his way in. She hadn't felt a desire like this since... Well, it had certainly been a long time. She couldn't remember any of her boyfriends or one-night-stands eliciting such a strong response from her libido. Oh, they'd tried, but the spark just wasn't there.

Potter pulled away, breathing heavily. He smirked. _Smirked!_ Potter was smirking. Lord, but the boy had changed. "You _are_ attracted to me."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Potter. Your grasp of the obvious never ceases to amaze me."

Potter threw back his head and laughed, really laughed. He grinned at her, and she felt her lips twitching into a smile, laughter bubbling in the pit of her stomach. At first, it came out as a few awkward giggles, but within seconds she was laughing with him, laughing as she hadn't in _years_, for absolutely no reason at all. She didn't see the humor in it, but laughter was infectious.

After a minute, when they'd finally controlled their mirth, Potter leaned forward, tucking a strand of her honey-blonde hair behind her ear. "Come with me to dinner tonight? Please?" Those green eyes, the ones she'd always thought were overrated, caught her blue ones and held her gaze.

It was the _please_ that changed her mind. Each time he'd asked before, it had been more of a demand, or an assumption. It had made her the slightest bit angry, and the stubborn part of her wouldn't allow her to say yes—even though, from the beginning, she had been very attracted to him. This time, it was a question. And she didn't think it was just her own perceptions that made her think he heard the slightest bit of insecurity in his voice, the slightest hint that he wasn't sure of his answer. So, instead of saying _no_, she smiled and leaned forward, kissing him lightly on the lips. "Sure."

* * *

She shouldn't have said yes, she thought as she stared at her wardrobe, trying to think of altering spells she knew. She came up with a grand total of zero. 

"This is not good," she muttered. It wasn't that she didn't have anything to wear. She did, but none of it seemed right. One felt too dark, the other too light, one too dressy, the other too casual. After much discussion, it had been decided that they would go to a little restaurant in Diagon Alley where she'd once gone with one of her previous boyfriends. It was an adorable Italian bistro where each table seemed to be in its own room, thanks to the inventive lighting.

It had also been decided that they would meet outside the restaurant—in a little less than fifteen minutes. Pansy groaned, falling backwards onto her bed and staring at the ceiling. Being who she was, she didn't make friends easily. In particular, she didn't make female friends easily. The only friend she'd had, throughout the entirety of Hogwarts, was Millicent Bulstrode, if she could even be counted.

So she was very much on her own.

With renewed purpose, Pansy pushed herself up off the bed and went through her wardrobe. When she ruled out one, she threw it on her bed. It was working quite well until she realized she was already halfway through her clothes collection—which was a large feat, as Pansy shopped for both pleasure _and_ therapy—and had ruled all of them out. She took a deep breath and forged on. Too bright, too dull, too tight, too loose, too dressy, too casual, too—perfect.

Pansy smiled. It was _perfect_ for the occasion. It was midnight blue, with silver threading. The fabric was casual, but the color set it off, made it just the right amount of dressy to let her feel comfortable wearing it on a date. She couldn't even remember where she'd bought it, or when.

Within five minutes, she was dressed and waiting outside the bistro for Potter to arrive, anxious for the evening to begin.

And also wondering, trying not to think of their immense attraction to each other, just how the evening would end...


End file.
